Reflections of a Tiny Tribute
by AKToad
Summary: Sentenced to death at the Reaping, Rue reflects on her last twelve years through District 11, realizing that the Hunger Games is just an ending to her pain.
1. The Truth About District 11

I was not born into a pleasant life. I was born into a world of destruction and torture, into an area where starvation was a daily occurrence. Where everyday you had to nervously pace around your house, wondering whose life had been sucked away today. But of course, others will tell you differently. Peacemakers will inform you over the great unity we have established, of how all Panem stands for balance and equality. That's the lecture you will receive, the thoughts you will have brainwashed into your innocent mind. And you believe them, as you enjoy your endless buffet of food, your perfectly tailored blouses. Panem seems like the land of dreams for you, but you haven't stepped one foot from the Capitol. None of you can imagine what its like, your life on the line, worked to the bone everyday just to survive. None of you, have ever known the torture of what's its like, to live in District 11.


	2. The First Harvest

_A/N: Just so you know, Rue is about four and a half in this story. I realize she may be acting a bit old, but with the life she lives I figure that she had to grow up pretty fast. _  
_Also, I just want to take a moment to thank all of my friends that helped me with this chapter. Without them, it would be quite jumbled, with a mess of present and past tense. _  
_Oh, and thanks to Fib1123581321 for the review. It meant a lot, and I hope this chapter held up to your expectations :)_

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I stumble across the ground, my arms heavy with the basketful of juicy apples. Looking down at them, my mouth waters and it takes all of my self-control to keep myself from devouring them all. They were so tempting, but take one step out of line, and you're whipped, beaten, and broken.

Despite the constant warnings my mind was issuing, I couldn't keep my clammy hands from straying near the fruit. Finally, after my stomach continually echoed loud growls, my willpower crushed, and I found my hands flinging towards the basket, and selecting a succulent, golden fruit. Allowing my teeth to enter the sweet flesh of the apple, I could hardly hold back from munching it down to the core. Upon finishing my snack, my cocoa shaded eyes glided up guiltily, my stomach knotting in fear.

To my relief, the only views I receive are those of sympathetic harvesters. My eyes shut momentarily, and I began tottering down the aisles of the orchards. Tripping over a lengthy root, I let out a gasp of air I didn't know I was holding. Crashing into the dusty earth, I allow a cascade of tears to slip from my eyes before they patter against the ground, dotting it with moisture. Wiping my pain away with the hem of my sleeve, I attempt to stand up, only to find a stream of blood trickling from my knee. Looking across my wound, I expect no help. This place where there is no rewards, no assistance, no mercy. I gaze across the orchard, to stare at the frail figures of the other workers. As I glance over towards them, I focus on the small details. Their worn, callused hands, wrinkly faces, and bruised, battered limbs. So many of us are the same, but we are all alone in this battle.

I slouch down with hopes my hurt will cease, only to have my vision over come with a red hot flash of pain as the paddle comes in contact with my back. Letting out a shriek of pain, I begin to erupt in violent sobs, only to feel my hair ripped upward. "Get to work!" a cold voice ordered, and I could feel myself step upward, my limbs moving obediently as I attempted to ignore the throbbing of my back.

I glance upward towards the cloud scattered sky, praying for escape, praying that maybe one day I could find freedom from this wretched place. I wonder why I was sent here, why I was plastered in a land where I was nothing more than a slave. A sigh escaping from my lips, I began to gather apples, scooping them into the woven container. Working silently, my ears manage to hear the quiet whistle of a mockingjay, and I can't stop my lips from curling into a smile. As the chirp begins to echo down the line, I rapidly stand up, my tiny feet rapping against the ground as I run towards the sound. Reaching the bird, I look upwards, my eyes shining as the bird continues the whistle of freedom. I plop down under the tree, humming along to their calming song as I await for my parents.

Spotting the ruffled blouse of my mother, I dash towards her, my spindly arms wrapping around her waist as I allow tears to stream down my cheeks. Picking me up and gently stroking my chocolate curls, she grips hands with my father and begins slowly trudging down the path, leaving my eyes to stare back at now empty orchard, wishing for the end.


End file.
